Daughter of the Revolution
by MarthaJones11
Summary: A young orphan girl is taken in and raised by Inspector Javert. Despite her father's best efforts, she grows into a rebellious young woman and and becomes a revolutionary leader among the people. After realizing the impossibility of stopping her behavior, Javert is faced with a decision that will either destroy everything he believes or destroy the only thing he holds dear.
1. Prologue

She never begged. That was what struck the hardened inspector. They always pleaded, prayed, beseeched him for mercy as though he was God the Father towering above them. But this one – this one came quietly, allowed him to lock the cuffs without a struggle, and allowed herself to be silently led away. Perhaps, he thought, her pride forced her to hold her tongue. Then again, she could be frightened beyond belief. All he knew was that this girl refused to speak, and the only hint of emotion beneath her expressionless façade was a slight tremor in her hands as he held firmly onto her bound wrists – whether from anger or from fear, he could not say. And as he led the girl away from the rapidly dispersing crowd, he muttered softly that she would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

And the girl knew there would be hell to pay when her father, instead of taking her to the police station, led her to their home.


	2. Chapter 1

Javert stalked the streets, alternating between offering supplications to God in Heaven and allowing torrents of curses to issue forth, tainted with the smell of liquor. He was not usually one to imbibe in the spirits, but tonight was different. Tonight, he had allowed an escaped convict to slip through his grasp, to slip into the bowels of Paris. The case of Jean Valjean had troubled Javert for years, and just as he stood on the precipice of victory, he again stumbled into the depths of defeat. It was then that he devoted himself entirely to smoking out Valjean; the man had broken the law, the only constant in life. And he would pay.

As he felt the liquor wearing off, Javert decided to return home and sleep off his drunkenness. He would visit the priest in the morning – a confession was in order, a price to be paid for tonight's sins. Turning, he slipped between the buildings, hoping to return home without being noticed. It would not do to have the physical embodiment of the law seen publically intoxicated. As he reached the gates of his house, Javert felt a sudden tug on his jacket – and in his slightly paranoid state, becoming increasingly frightened of being discovered wallowing in sin and failure – the inspector turned and let one heavy boot fly in the direction of the tug. Seconds later, he regretted it as he heard the crying begin – it was a child. Sighing, Javert crouched down to the huddled child, now holding her head with dirt-stained hands.

"Let me see," Javert ordered the child, as if speaking to a subordinate. Naturally, the child, already frightened by the sudden assault, only sobbed harder and curled further into herself. Knowing that the child's increasingly louder cries would soon alert neighbors or passerby, Javert did the only thing he could think of – he knelt, scooped the child into his arms, pushed open the gate with his back, and brought the child into his home. Setting her down as gently as his partially inebriated body would allow, he tried to speak to the girl again.

"I apologize, mademoiselle, for injuring you. May I please help you with your wound?" Javert asked, attempting to look the girl in the eyes – a difficult venture, considering she held her hands over her head and buried herself in the back of the chair.

Perhaps noting his change in demeanor, however, the child stopped crying briefly and beckoned Javert closer, as if sharing a secret. He shuffled forward on his knees and bent down to the girl.

"My name is Alexandria," she spoke softly, "and my mother told me to come here. She said 'find the Inspector. He will help. He is a good man, a man of God and a man of order.'"

Javert started, a number of questions forming in his mind, clouded by a fog of whiskey. Who was this girl's mother? Why did she think so highly of him? Clearly this child was of the streets, one of those he hunted ruthlessly. Why would her mother tell the girl to seek him out? Most importantly, where was her mother?

Yet Javert asked none of these things. He sat back on his heels, staring at the girl, and asked a question he would regret moments later.

"Alexandria, can you take me to your parents?" he asked softly. He was feeling the beginnings of a headache and had no desire to deal with a screaming child. But Javert's fears were without ground – the girl had already begun to drift off to sleep, cushioned by the soft pillows of the chair surrounding her. Her eyes fluttered at his words and she gave another whispered response, softer than before so that Javert had to lean in even closer.

"No, monsieur, I cannot. They are with God." And with that, the girl drifted off to sleep, leaving Javert with unanswered questions, a raging headache, and an empty bottle of whiskey.


	3. Chapter 2

That night, Javert did not sleep. He sat across from the sleeping girl, one leg crossed over the other, with his elbow resting on his knee and his head in hand. He held an open Bible and occasionally glanced at the girl before returning to the readings. Her hair fell tangled around her face, dark brown hair that held all the markings of life on the streets. Her tiny face was gaunt, even for a homeless and orphaned child, and Javert noticed a dark bruise forming around her left eye – he assumed from his boot. Sighing as he noted the rising sun illuminating another sin from the previous night, Javert closed the Bible, rose, and strode over to the girl.

"Alexandria," he said firmly, "wake up. It is morning."

The girl's eyes immediately shot open. Bolting upright, she swung her head in all directions, her tangled hair whipping Javert in the face.

"Alexandria! Mademoiselle, you are safe. Do not fret," he begged, not wanting to upset her again. She stopped, staring at him intently before falling back into the cushions.

"Oh monsieur! I apologize. I had forgotten where I was," she replied, a smile playing on her face. "Do you have any other children, monsieur? I should like to play with them."

Javert stood back, confused. Did this child think he was an orphanage, taking in every lonely child on the street?

"No, Alexandria, I do not. Today, I shall take you to the Sisters of Mercy. They will take you in and raise you, seeing as though your parents have passed on," Javert answered. "Come, we shall go now."

The child looked up at Javert with deep brown eyes, just moments before playful, now brimming with tears at the edges.

"But…wait monsieur please!" she cried as Javert turned to collect his heavy jacket. "My mother said – "

"Your mother told you to find me, and so you have. She likely knew I would bring you to the Sisters," he replied, shrugging on his coat and reaching for his hat.

"No monsieur! My mother wanted me to find you so that I may give you this," she said, her voice quivering with fear. She reached into her pocket – pants, Javert noted. The girl did not wear a dress, but pants and a blouse. From there she fished out an envelope, dirty and crumpled, and held it preciously, as an offering to him.

"Please," she whispered, "it was the only thing she gave me before she died."

Javert took the envelope, turning it over to the address. On the front, it simply said 'Etienne.' His head shot up to the child. He stalked over, bent down, and grasped her chin, looking deeply into her eyes and examining her face. The child tried to wrench away, but Javert held on firmly. Eventually, he let go, allowing her to retreat back into the cushions.

Javert sank to his knees in front of her chair. He scarcely needed to open the letter; he knew its contents already. There was only one other living person – now dead – who knew his first name. Six years ago, she had been his. Six years ago, she left, returning to the streets that she could not, would not leave, returning to the life that called her back. And now, six years later, she had returned to him with her final confession – and had sent it in the hands of their daughter.


	4. Chapter 3

The Christmas Eve six years past would forever be burned onto Javert's mind. As Inspector of the force in his small town he enjoyed the advantage of assigning less desirable dates to his subordinates. However, that night Javert's assigned on-duty officer had taken severely ill, and, being Christmas Eve, the remainder of his force was already rather drunk. Javert decided that, even on this holy night, the streets could not go unpatrolled, and through this decision he found himself walking the streets of the town on one of the coldest nights of the year.

It was the combination of bitter cold and contemplation of the meaning of that holy night that caused Javert to momentarily enter the back of Saint Pierre's Catholic Church. Through the open door, he could hear the Latin chant drifting into the snowy streets, and had decided to momentarily warm himself before continuing the watch. Upon entering, Javert was struck by the beauty of that night. Candles bathed the altar in a warm glow as _Adeste Fideles_ permeated all corners of the church with the glory yet simplistic joy of that night. Even for a man of strict religiosity, Javert was deeply moved, and, hastily dipping his ungloved hand in the font of holy water, he blessed himself and again entered the snowy night.

Javert walked the streets until early dawn without incident. It was merely an hour before his shift ended that he heard the screams from the dark alleyway, obviously belonging to a woman. He darted toward the sounds, club at the ready, and came across the woman – she sat with her back against a wall, knees held closely to her chest, with her face buried in her hands, sobbing. Javert, still touched by his encounter with the divine and not entirely himself that holy night, crouched down and pulled the woman's hands from her face.

He gasped, anger swelling within him. The woman had been beaten, both severely and repeatedly. Her lip was split open, blood seeped from her nose, which Javert believed broken, her left eye was quickly swelling and her right eye was blackened from an old beating, and she had multiple cuts on her cheeks and forehead. Her gaunt face and thin hair showed all the signs of poverty, yet Javert did not see the common street woman that he usually did; tonight, Javert saw the Madonna, the most holy Mother of God, in the unknown woman's bleeding face. He saw the Mother of All Sorrows in her eyes, and Javert knew that, for just this one night, he would not be merely the feared Inspector; he would be a fellow human.

"May I bring you somewhere safe, Mademoiselle?" Javert inquired gently of the woman, still shaking and hiccupping with the last of her sobs.

"Monsieur…I…I have no money…no way –"

"No money is necessary, Mademoiselle. Please allow me to assist you."

The woman looked into his eyes. Surely, she knew him, Javert thought. All the homeless and lowly street dwellers knew the feared Inspector Javert, and knew that he showed no mercy.

"But Monsieur," she began again, "the children need me. I have done…done nothing wrong. Please, Inspector…please do not…do not take me…to…to…"

"I have no intentions of taking you to prison, Mademoiselle. I only mean to take you to my home, ensure that your wounds are properly taken care of, and then return you home once I have found the perpetrators that have dared harm you."

She stared again, clearly expecting some catch. This was the feared Inspector who did nothing for free.

"I…I am not a whore, Inspector," the woman said quietly, looking at the ground beside her. "I am not proud of what I have done to help others survive. But I would never sell myself."

Javert felt his face burn. The woman thought that he wanted certain favors for saving her, and assumed that was his reason for taking her to his home.

"Mademoiselle, I promise you that I would never take advantage of you or any other woman. You need a doctor's care and a safe place. This, I can provide. Please think of it as a Christmas gift."

The woman glanced quickly at Javert's face. She looked briefly yet deeply into his eyes, which she found to hold no malice or lust – only kindness, and perhaps a tinge of passion for the good deed in which he found himself immersed.

"Monsieur…I do believe that I will accept your offer. I thank you with all my heart, and hope someday to repay you. But I find that…"

The woman, clearly exhausted both physically and mentally, suddenly drifted off, either into a deep sleep or unconsciousness – Javert could not say. He simply lifted her sleeping form from the cold, snow-covered ground and carried her to his house, laying her in bed as the sun began to rise. And as the first rays of sunlight peeked through the bedroom window, the illusion of the night was broken, and Javert found himself wondering just what he had gotten himself into.


End file.
